


The Trouble with Seduction

by Moonlitdark



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Awkwardness, M/M, Possibly unrequited lust, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28504578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlitdark/pseuds/Moonlitdark
Summary: The past few weeks had been filled with both meticulous plotting and embarrassing failures. When every fresh, apparently foolproof attempt had proven to be a worse disaster than the last, Draco recognised that not only was his own personal pride at stake, but the good Malfoy name.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 24





	The Trouble with Seduction

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted a long time ago on Livejournal. So if it seems familiar, you've probably read it before, but this version has a few edits.

The past few weeks had been filled with both meticulous plotting and embarrassing failures. When every fresh, apparently foolproof attempt had proven to be a worse disaster than the last, Draco recognised that not only was his own personal pride at stake, but the good Malfoy name. 

Utterly determined not to be bested by a pathetic bumbling Gryffindor, Draco’s efforts had increased with urgency. The fact that Draco considered Potter to be neither pathetic nor bumbling was simply not relevant to the problem. Draco had objectively analysed the practical difficulties, assessed where problems had occurred and done everything in his power to avoid future hitches, following on from past catastrophes with renewed optimism. 

Draco’s various offerings of gifts had not assisted with the issue. Looking back, Draco was loathed to admit that he would’ve stood a better chance of succeeding if he had given any clue as to who had bestowed the extravagant donations. But these were nothing more than minor technicalities. Draco had every intention of disclosing his identity, but the guffaws echoing from Potter’s corner of the office on receipt of every parcel kept him at bay. The laughter could have been caused by any inane piece of chatter from the ever-present crowd of dolts; it was not necessarily an assessment of the expensive articles Draco bequeathed, but he had nevertheless shuddered with every burst of amusement.

A deluge of presents was evidently not going to be the methods for his victory. But Draco’s various attempts at steering sparse personal interactions towards a possible date or quiet evening of seduction had proven to be equally disastrous. But then again, the discussions may have been more fruitful if Draco at least hinted of his interest and intent. More technicalities. 

Three weeks after the beginning of Draco’s endeavour, the prospects of sharing Potter’s bed had not improved. 

Deciding a more assertive approach may be required, Draco had stridden purposely towards Potter’s desk one morning, prepared to be ruthlessly alluring until he achieved his goal. But as Potter looked up, green eyes narrowed in a suspiciously seductive scowl, a disturbingly familiar heat had spread over Draco’s cheeks. Battling feebly with his involuntary bodily reactions (of which the blushing was only the tip of the iceberg), Draco had tried to utter an opening line. He had thought that any words would suffice rather than the awkward silence. In actuality, if the silence had continued, that may have been preferable to the stuttered nonsense which poured forth from Draco’s mouth. 

Potter had made an enquiry as to the reason for Draco’s visit, but the only explanation Draco managed was a series of unintelligible vowel sounds followed by a severe hot flush and an insufficiently graceful exit. There would definitely have been more dignity to his retreat if Draco hadn’t stumbled over the waste paper bin by the desk. The only small mercy was that his reddened face hadn’t actually connected with the floor.

Growing increasingly frustrated, Draco had worked on refining his sneer and disparaging anyone else who happened upon his path, if only to prove to himself that he still could. That his regrettable obsession had not completely robbed him of all poise. But soon the predicament had escalated to such an extreme that even a passing thought of Potter was enough to bring about a predicable response. Somehow the idea of shagging had even evolved into stray notions of snuggling. 

Quiet observance had gradually presented Draco with another idea. Eavesdropping on Potter’s dialogue with the abundance of other people unfortunately littering the office, Draco established Potter’s preferred choice of entertainment. Therefore, Draco had swallowed a huge lump of his pride and organised a meeting of their acquaintances in a nearby drinking establishment. Using his colleagues to spread the word ensured that Potter would be in attendance without Draco enduring the humiliation of inviting him. 

The dreadful way that this particular plan could backfire should have been evident from the outset. Despite Draco’s best grooming regime creating a magnificent and irresistible appearance, and regardless of a cunningly subtle reshuffling of seating arrangements, he still hadn’t been able to hold a passable conversation with the man he desired. Before long Potter had drifted off into the arms of a nearby patron. The stress caused by enduring the sight of two grown men hanging over each other like a pair of hormonal teenagers had only been overshadowed by the hideous realisation that since Draco had been responsible for initiating the gathering, it was his fault that Potter had found company for the evening. To add salt to the wound, Draco knew that he was expected to remain and mingle with the people he had gathered. Not wishing to appear rude (as that would hardly become someone of his breeding), he gritted his teeth, fixed his smile and prayed for the barman to call time. 

Now, bent at his desk, Draco was almost ready to admit defeat, but hopeful panic set in when he noticed that a deliciously scented man was hovering over him. 

Draco once again failed to will down the now customary flush.

“What do you like to drink?” Potter enquired. A pleasant, out of place question unmarred by any trace of nervousness.

Frowning, Draco failed to process the peculiar inquiry. Why would Potter care what beverages he liked to partake of? Exceptionally odd. After long moments spent gaping upwards, it became obvious that a reply was expected.

“W - w,” he stuttered faintly. That was bad. He tried again, “Uhh… win'mt, ch.” Draco wasn't even sure what he had attempted to say.

Potter continued on regardless. “I'm going to take a chance on wine. You can come over to my place tonight and show me how to work that ridiculously complicated silver corkscrew that you sent me.”

“I…” Clearly Draco’s articulation skills were not improving.

“Exactly. I’ll see you at eight then. Here’s the address.”

Draco stared at the writing on a small piece of parchment long after Potter’s departure from the office. This was his chance. Finally, the perfect opportunity had dropped into Draco’s straining lap, but his track record with commencing any verbal exchange with Potter lately had not gone… well. He needed to keep it together, regain his composure. If he could re-establish his unwavering confidence in his own superiority, Potter would be his. But would he even manage to speak? Oh, bugger. Draco dropped his head heavily down onto the wood with a foreboding sense of doom, unusually unconcerned by the startled glances from the people around him.

………

Though severely lacking in subtlety, Potter’s approach was impressively effective.

Opening the door with an expression seeped in lust, Potter barely allowed Draco time to enter the small flat before Draco's hand was quickly grasped and he was led steadily down a narrow hallway. 

Potter reached his destination with a trembling Draco in tow. Draco’s sweaty palm was relinquished, leaving a very confused, very dizzy, very aroused member of the Malfoy family standing awkwardly in a bedroom, a foot’s length from Harry Potter, wholly unsure of his next move. 

Regarding Draco with an amused smile, Potter appeared to be waiting. 

The brain signals which normally so effortlessly instructed Draco’s body to move were no longer working. Understanding that this would be a very good moment to pounce, sweep in and snatch what he wanted, instead Draco found to his dismay that he couldn’t think clearly enough for action. 

Potter puffed out a sigh of exasperation, but the enthralling smile never faltered. As Potter reached for him, Draco finally relocated the motor functions controlling his limbs. But his feet were taking him in the wrong direction. He was inexplicably moving backwards, preserving a safe distance as Potter walked forward.

A solid wall soon stopped Draco’s progress. Potter also came to a halt, smile widening, but a vital sliver of air remained between them.

This would definitely be an ideal time for a cool comeback or derisive sneer, for crushing his lips against that inviting mouth, for wrapping his arms around Potter’s body and never letting go. Anything. Any appropriate reaction. Any minute now.

When Potter’s hands lightly rested on Draco’s hips, a tremble vibrated through Draco's whole body. He could detect the aroma of mint, and perhaps chocolate, on Potter’s breath. Although he was fairly certain that Malfoy’s didn’t whimper, with Potter’s gaze fixed firmly on his, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Decorum mattered even less when Potter leaned slowly in.

After all his many painfully fumbled attempts, Draco’s torture finally ended when he found himself pinned to the wall by the simple wonder of a kiss. Draco moved instinctively to press their bodies flush. His hands found soft hair, the slope of a toned back and tantalising curves below. Draco explored everything within his reach and his own body was discovered with matching eagerness. 

Draco panted with growing excitement when their lips eventually parted, faintly irritated that this method hadn’t occurred to him first.

Looking at Potter’s flushed, beaming face and feeling a hand again grasp his to tug impatiently towards the bed, Draco privately forced himself to admit that sometimes the best ideas weren’t his own. Maybe Draco’s strengths might lie elsewhere…


End file.
